


and then all of this begins again

by owilde



Series: shadowhunters historical AUs (various pairings) [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fluff, Happy Ending, Historical References, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, kind of, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7400428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>and all the winds are like a kiss<br/>and all the years are nemesis<br/>and all the moments fall in mist<br/>and all is dust, remember this<br/>— enya : <i>the humming</i><br/></p>
</blockquote><br/>This is their story, spun throughout the years.
            </blockquote>





	and then all of this begins again

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to do a reincarnation fic, and then I listened to Enya's _The Humming_ and kind of went "YEA GOOD SHIT LET'S DO THIS", and, well. Here we are. Go give the song a listen if you haven't, it's really good.
> 
> Un-beta'd, feel free to point out any and all mistakes.
> 
> Title taken from the aforementioned _The Humming_ by Enya.

**i.**

It's 1589 when they first meet, after the Battle of Arques. Simon notices Raphael, watching through his windows as he wanders the streets of Santander alone. He's looking as miserable as the dreadful weather with his cloak haphazardly hanging on his shoulders. It doesn't seem to be of much help – the rain is pouring down too ferociously, hitting the windows and the roof with a loud _tap tap tap_. In a haste decision Simon elects to invite him in. He climbs down the ladder leading to the attic, runs outside to the rain and hurries after the figure that's slowly disappearing off down the street. Simon doesn't yell out, merely catches his pace as he rushes after the other man – boy, really – and reaches out to brush his fingers against the soft fabric of the cloak.

The boy turns around, blinking. His lashes stick together in the rain, and Simon feels his breath catch because it feels so _familiar_ , so much like home even though he's never had one. It's strange and intriguing at the same time, and Simon doesn't know what to make of it.

"Evening," the boy greets, cocking an eyebrow. "What do you require?"

Simon shakes his head slowly. "You're drenched," he tries to offer as an explanation.

The other boy looks amused. "An astute observation," he drawls dryly.

"I meant to say," Simon tries again, his cheeks flushing, "that if you wish to, you can spend the night in my attic."

The boy's lips stretch into a lopsided grin. "Your attic?" He questions, tilting his head. Droplets of water drip down the hood of his cloak as they continue to stand outside, and Simon glances up to the sky to see the dark clouds roaming.

"My home," he clarifies, looking down again. "What's your name?"

The boy eyes him up and down, his gaze assessing and calculating. Finally, he seems to relax. "Raphael," he tells Simon. "My name's Raphael. And you?"

Simon smiles, turning around and trusting the boy – _Raphael_ – to follow him. He does.

"I'm Simon," he says to Raphael as they begin walking back to the house Simon's renting in. Their conversation ceases until they're inside.

There's a candle burning that's casting a small light in the room, propped up on a wooden box next to Simon's mattress. The room is very bare and undecorated, and Simon would feel ashamed if it weren't for the blissful look on Raphael's face as he sees the source of the light.

"Thank you," he whispers as he sheds the wet and heavy cloak to the floor and moves toward the candle, placing his palms near the flame. Simon follows him, sitting on the mattress and leaning his back against the wall.

"It's no issue," he says softly, though he's not entirely sure what Raphael is grateful for precisely.

There's a long silence as it continues to rain and Raphael sits next to the burning candle. Simon feels his lids drooping on a few occasions, but he's determined to remain awake. He wants to know more about Raphael, wants to hear his story.

And he does, eventually. Raphael starts talking as the rain slowly subdues, the loud thudding turning into an irregular tapping.

"My father, he was in Arques-la-Bataille last month, along with my brother. Neither of them made it back home," he begins, eyes firmly trained on the dying flame. "My mother, she… She didn't take it as well as I did. She's gone, now. And it was just me, afterwards, so I decided to head out for Santander, perhaps board a ship set out to sail… well, in any direction, really. You caught me on my way to the port."

Simon nods, smiling sadly. "I'm sorry. I lost my sister as well. The pox, a few years back. I've been living here since."

There's an air of understanding between them, and later Raphael moves away from the burned out candle and next to Simon, and they fall asleep in the dark, lying next to each other, and Simon feels– he feels _safe_.

They remain together after that. Raphael doesn't leave the country – doesn't even leave Simon's attic, really – and they're as happy as can be. They become a secret after the night that Simon kisses him, in the dark after the lights have burned out, hesitant and searching and terrified. But it's a nice secret to keep. Nobody knows of them, and they know of nobody.

It's ten years later when Raphael passes away in his sleep after catching a fever.

Simon swears they'll meet again.

He buries Raphael in the woods near the sea.

**ii.**

It's the 21st of June, 1667, only a month or so after the War of Devolution has begun. Simon is held up in Tournai, along with a crowd of other soldiers gathered there in a haste. He can see the French army on the yard, and he knows they've already lost this battle. Everyone knows it, really. They have neither the resources nor the morale to keep the stronghold for much longer, and it's pointless, regardless. The French have already won the war – it's just a matter of time until it finally ends.

His only consolation is Raphael. He'd found him again, five years back, cooped up in a small village in Alcaraz. It hadn't taken long to realize that it was Raphael, _his_ Raphael, and the indescribable joy of meeting him again had been overwhelming. Simon had told him he'd had buried him, and had gone himself not long after that, taken by the same disease that had plagued Raphael. _I told you we'd meet again_ , he'd said with tears in his eyes, and it'd been bitter and sweet and heart breaking all at once.

Now it was only bitter. Their situation was horrendous, and Simon knew they were both aware that they wouldn't make it out of this alive, yet refused to talk about it.

Simon is curled up in the corner of one of the rooms in the castle, out of his uncomfortable armour and staring at the stony walls in quiet despair. He knows, now, that death isn't the end of it, not by far. But he loaths the years of not knowing, the nagging feeling of having forgotten something crucial that remains for so long until something shifts to the right place and it all comes flooding back. He knows, and still it doesn't bring him any comfort when he thinks of himself lying dead in a ditch, a spear through his chest and blood oozing from the wound for hours after.

The door to the room creaks open and Raphael steps in, making sure to close the door behind him. They are still a secret – they have to be. Raphael makes his way to where Simon is, sitting on the floor beside him and gently taking one of his hands in his. Simon watches as their finger intertwine. He doesn't feel as desperate, anymore.

"It's going to be alright, _mi amor_ ," Raphael whispers to him, resting his head against Simon's shoulder. "I'll find you again. I swear."

Simon chuckles, closing his eyes. His heart is thudding in an anxious beat as the thoughts of _death_ and _suffering_ and _war_ splay across his mind once again. "I know you will. But it doesn't erase the years in between. All the time spent alone, when we could have…" he opens his eyes and glances at Raphael, who looks at him softly.

"Could have had this," he finished for Simon, who nods.

They sit for a while in silence, simply taking comfort in the others presence, because if these are their last days for a long time they might as well make the most of them.

"I can't believe I found you again just to lose you," Raphael mumbles, breaking the silence.

Simon presses closer to him, sighing. "At least we _did_ find each other," he offers weakly. It's not much, but it's something. They don't talk much after that.

It's a few days later that they officially surrender the stronghold, but it comes as no surprise. Simon tangles his fingers into Raphael's shirt as they hear the French move outside the castle walls, refusing to let go as they share a half desperate, half rushed kiss.

It's on the 25th of June, 1667, as the French take over the stronghold. Simon watches as Raphael is dragged away from him, and he screams from the top of his lungs promises of next lives' and forever's and I love you's.

Simon _feels_ , more than sees, when Raphael dies.

He himself tries to flee the stronghold in a desperate attempt.

Simon dies not even an hour after Raphael, lying on the yard with a spear on his back and dirt in his mouth.

It's not pretty for either of them.

 **iii**.

It's 1764 when they next meet, nearly a hundred years later. Simon's just arrived in Madrid, the wondrous city of promises and tales that's he's heard of for so long. It doesn't seem like much to him at first, as he walks the cobblestone streets and looks around the see painters and salesmen and drunks wailing in every corner of every street. He doesn't think it worth much – just another city in the sea of others, nothing special standing out in it.

It isn't until his eyes catch one particular painter, a young man sitting on the steps of a church with a cheap canvas and a brush in his hand, that Simon thinks it might be worthwhile after all. The man has an air of familiarity to him that Simon can't quite put his finger on, and he sits down a few meters away from him to observe. Simon sits there for a day, simply watching. The man notices him, he's sure, but doesn't say a word until the sun has set, just keeps on painting. After it's become dark he gathers his supplies and stands up, walking to where Simon is. Simon glances up as he approaches and stops in front of Simon, lips pursed.

"Why are you watching me?" He asks, while offering Simon his hand to help him up. Simon takes the offered hand, immediately frowning at the contact. It feels warm, and comforting, and he looks up at the other man again to see–

And it all comes back in a flash. He remembers the rain, and the burning candle, the corners of the attic; the war, the French, the light touches and late nights and the word _love_ spilling from his lips, and–

He remembers _Raphael_.

"Simon," Raphael breathes out, dropping his brushes to the ground in shock.

Simon blinks, and hesitantly reaches out to touch his fingers to Raphael's cheek. He lets his hand travel to Raphael's neck and curl there, the familiar action causing him to laugh in relief. "It's you," he exclaims shakily, suddenly surging forward to wrap Raphael in an embrace. "It's really you," he whispers against Raphael's skin, eyes closed.

They go to Raphael's home, which turns out to be a luxurious house in the centre of the city. They share it from there onward. Some people ask question, and they politely decline from answering them. Raphael has a few friends he trusts, and they know – not everything, but enough. It all works out rather well. Raphael continues to paint; Simon begins to spent his days by writing. He writes about their past years, he writes about history, he writes about _them_.

It's a good life. There are wars and there are battles, but they take no part in them. Simon learns to read, and goes through Raphael's vast collection of books and other texts. They grow old, together, living in Madrid until Simon dies of old age in 1810.

There's a funeral, he'll later hear.

For the first time, it's not a sad ending for them.

**iv.**

Simon is part of the revolutionary forces as they prepare to storm the governmental forces of the Queen. It's 1868, early September, and the air is crisp with excitement of what the future brings. They're sure to win the battle – if not only for their militaristic strength, then their pure will power. Simon is excited to be a part of such a large movement, to be an active part of history.

He only wishes he'd know where Raphael is. He remembers everything, but he's been unable to find Raphael in the twenty-four years of his current life. It's a constant ache in him, like he's missing a limb or a part of his very essence. He only hopes he'll find him before the revolution.

He doesn't.

The Battle of Alcolea approaches quickly, and sooner rather than later Simon finds himself on the battlefield on 28th of September, with the early morning sun coming out and shining through the mist. They're on a bridge, somewhere in Spain – he doesn't want to think of the details, because it makes it all much more real. He _needs_ to survive this, and then resume on his search to find Raphael. There's no version of this where he dies before finding him. It's never happened before, and Simon's going to ensure it won't happen now either.

General Francisco Serrano y Domínguez is leading their revolutionary army, and as they open fire on the Queen's forces Simon listens intently for all his commands. He can't be the one who's responsible for their doom.

Shouts of _¡disparar!_ are heard everywhere, and Simon does his part the best he can. He shoots, watches as the blood spills and the river turns red with the bodies piling on the shores. He tries his best not to think about what he's doing, about all the lives he's taking, but it's impossible. These are people, the same as him – what will Raphael think?

There's a pause in the exchange of fire towards the afternoon, and Simon is catching his breath and reloading his rifle when he sees it. On the other side of the bridge, on the side of the Queen's governmental forces. Standing there and staring at Simon with his gun pointed at him is Raphael. The same one he's been searching for, the same one Simon's doing his very best to _stay alive_ for.

He doesn't recognize Simon.

"Lewis? Lewis, what's the matter?" A man on his right asks, nudging him in the ribs. Simon glances at him, frowning.

"Nothing. I thought…" He trails off, looking back at Raphael who's now talking to another member of the Queen's force. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

The man gives him a suspicious look but turns away. No thought can be spared to worry about someone else when your life is on the line, he supposes.

The break comes to an end, soon after.

Simon gave up the moment he saw Raphael.

He doesn't know who fires the bullet, Raphael or someone else from the Queen's forces.

It doesn't matter, either way.

He dies on 29th of September, 1868, to a gunshot wound.

**v.**

It isn't until 1930 before they meet again, for the fifth time. It's peaceful for a while, just the two of them making up for all the time lost. But then they're sent to fight in the Spanish Civil War together, in 1938. They're on the same side of the war, this time – Simon's eternally grateful for this. Raphael kept apologizing for Alcolea after they met again, but Simon couldn't bring himself to blame him for any of it.

Now Simon's lying in a medical tent, flinching in pain every time Raphael taps his bleeding leg with a tissue drenched in disinfectant. He got shot, _again_ , with the fortunate exception that this time it was non-fatal. They're alone in the tent, which is not too surprising – it's way past midnight, already. There's a faintly lit lamp flickering on the table that's casting shadows on Raphael's face, and Simon does his best to focus on this instead of the pain.

"You need to stop getting shot," Raphael mumbles as he puts the cloth aside in order to bandage Simon's leg. Simon rolls his eyes.

"Hardly my fault," he drawls. Raphael scoffs, rolling the band-aid around the wound. Simon's not sure he should trust _Raphael_ out of everyone to be a sufficient medical assistant, but beggars can't be choosers, he figures. He watches as his wound gets covered up slowly, and breathes a sigh of relief when Raphael finally leans away from his legs and sits down on the chair near Simon's head.

He soon feels Raphael's fingers run through his hair, the cold skin brushing against his warm forehead. Once again Simon's reminded of their first life together, when there were no wars or battles; just peace, and them, and their shared attic. He feels a twinge of nostalgia.

"Do you ever wish we could go back?" He asks out loud, and the fingers combing his hair pause for a few seconds.

"Go back where?" Raphael asks in return.

"To where it all started. When we were together in Santander, on the attic. Remember when I saved your sorry ass from probably getting the flu and dying on a street corner somewhere?"

Raphael scoffs again, resuming his combing. "Why would I want to go back there?"

Simon attempts to shrug, closing his eyes. "I don't know. I just feel like it was better, then, than now." He pauses, looking for the right words. "I guess I just miss the past, sometimes."

Raphael hums in agreement. "I do, too."

There's a long silence, before Raphael breaks it. "Do you ever wonder why we're like this?" He asks, hesitantly, and Simon frowns.

"Like what?"

"Why we keep coming back," Raphael clarifies.

And Simon _has_ wondered, has been thinking about it for a while, in fact. "Yes. And it scares me every time, to think that maybe one day we won't. That one day we'll die, and that'll be it. That I won't ever see you again."

"I know. So in that sense, I do wish we could go back, if that meant that I could relive every moment with you again."

Simon laughs, though he's fairly sure there are tears in his eyes. "Surely not _every_ moment," he remarks with a grin, and Raphael chuckles.

"No," he amends, "some of them were pretty terrible."

They spend the rest of the night talking; of everything and nothing and all in between.

The next week there's an attack on their camp.

They die together for the first time, tightly squeezing each other's fingers.

**vi.**

It's 1982 when they decide to move away from Spain for the first time. It's Simon's idea – a breath of fresh air after everything that this country has done to them, after everything they've suffered through here. Raphael eventually agrees. America sounds like a decent place, and he can't fathom any reason to refuse. Though they do argue about it at first, extensively. Simon may mean the world to him, but Raphael isn't going to let it stop him from being rational.

At the end they board the ship on 24th of June, both having just turned seventeen and leaving their homes with a short note on the kitchen table and forgotten shirts left hanging in their closets. They met this time as children, living on the same neighbourhood in Granada. Fool's luck, says Raphael. _Destiny_ , says Simon with a dramatic flick of his wrist and a wistful sigh.

Simon isn't sure how Raphael managed to convince anyone to sell them the tickets, seeing how they're underage and practically broke, but he's not going to start questioning anything now as they settle in their cabin. Then he notices that there's only one bed, and Simon forgets his promise to not question things as he quirks an eyebrow and wonders _what the actual fuck_ Raphael has told the poor person they bought the tickets from. As if reading his mind, Raphael turns to look at him with a smirk.

"I said we're brothers," he laughs, "and she actually believed me."

Simon looks at him in shock. "That's fucking weird," he states. "You could've just said we're together, we don't live in the 16th century anymore."

Raphael's smirk doesn't disappear. "And that's exactly what she would've said to that. _Fucking weird_. We might not live in the past, but it doesn't mean that things are exactly ideal."

Simon shrugs, dropping his bags on the floor. "Well, you're not wrong," he allows. Raphael looks entirely too satisfied with himself, and Simon feels the need to continue. " _But_ that doesn't mean things are horrible, either. Some people are understanding, these days. You'd know – just think of your brother."

Simon regrets saying this immediately as Raphael's smile falls, and he turns around to face away from Simon. "Yeah, well," he starts, and Simon can hear the bitterness in his tone, "I won't be seeing him again for a long time, so it doesn't really matter, does it?"

Simon licks his lips, and takes a few steps forward to rest his hand on Raphael's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he says, hoping his sincerity comes across properly. "I know you'll miss him. But we'll come back one day, yeah? I promise."

Raphael sighs, but turns back towards Simon and allows him to wrap his arms around him in a hug. "You've made a lot of promises in the past," he quietly reminds Simon. "And you haven't been able to keep most of them."

"Don't remind me of my highly depressing failure record," Simon says back in a hollow attempt to make Raphael laugh. He somewhat succeeds; Raphael scoffs.

"You can bet your ass I'll continue to remind you of it for the rest of our lives," he mutters.

Simon smiles fondly.

They do make it to the US, waving at the Statue of Liberty as they pass by and laughing at how foreign everything feels.

A year later they're on their way back home from the movies when they don't notice the car while crossing the street.

They never get to return to Spain.

**vii.**

It's 2015 when they meet again for the final time.

Simon never considered his life to be especially complicated, before. But now he's swept up in this mess with Clary, who's going on about Shadowhunters, and demons, and things Simon doesn't even really want to think about. At all. And suddenly his life is ten times more complicated than earlier.

They're on their way to go check out a sword, or something as equally ridiculous, and honestly – Simon just wants to go home. He doesn't, because he doesn't trust Clary with these freakishly good looking people who are all dressed in black and look like they popped out straight from a goth catalogue. But that's not going to stop him from staying in the car, because there's no way in hell that he's going to hang out with Mr. Beautiful Blonde and his friends for any second longer than he absolutely has to.

So he waves them goodbye, watches as Clary exchanges a quick look with Mr. Constant Frown's sister and notices how she smiles sweetly, and then decides that enough's enough and cranks up the volume on his phone. Who knows for how long he'll be here. Who knows what Clary is even _doing_ , really.

A tiny flare of panic settles in his stomach and Simon does his best to ignore it. Clary will be fine, she's always fine. But there's a quiet, nagging voice in the back of his mind that _won't stop talking_ , and eventually Simon lets out a deep sigh and steps out of the car in defeat.

He regrets this immediately. The path in front of him is pitch black as Simon starts to walk through it, and the light from his phone is doing fuck all to illuminate the road. He's fairly certain the leaves around him rustle in an entirely unnatural way, and picks up his speed.

He's almost at the clearing where Clary and the Goth Gang went, and he can already see Mr. Constant Frown's figure in the dark, when something swoops past him and he freezes on the spot.

_Shit shit shit shit–_

The leaves rustle again, and then a female voice speaks.

"He's kind of cute, isn't he?"

Simon gulps, unable to move his feet. If he could just run the rest of the way to where Mr. Constant Frown is, he'd be safe. These are probably some local drug addicts, he knew this would happen, he's going to die being stabbed with a fucking syringe–

"Don't," another voice says icily.

Simon frowns, because the second voice is eerily familiar – like he's heard it before, somewhere, but he can't quite remember where.

"Oh, _please_ ," the first voice says, and then Simon sees a woman step out from the trees surrounding the path. She looks at him with a smirk, a hungry glint in her eyes. "It's not like _you_ ever want _anyone_ ," she addresses the second voice.

"You don't understand," the familiar like voice says, and then he steps out as well, and–

Simon feels his breath hitch as his phone drops from his hand to the ground, his entire focus zeroing on the other man.

Their eyes lock, and the man – Raphael, Simon remembers, _knows_ – smiles sadly. "I finally found you," he whispers and Simon takes a shaky step forward.

"Raphael?" He whispers, though he knows it's him, _of course_ it is. He could never mistake this feeling for anything or anyone else.

Raphael nods, not moving an inch. "I wasn't sure– because I've changed, I didn't know if you'd… if we still…" He trails off, looking away. "But apparently yes."

And Simon can't help doing anything but close the distance between them and throw his arms around Raphael's shoulders, hugging him with all the power he has. He feels Raphael hesitantly circle his hands around Simon's waist, and Simon wonders how he could've forgotten all of this.

"What the hell?" The woman asks, and Simon carefully leans away from Raphael.

"I can't believe I found you again," he whispers instead of answering the woman, and Raphael smiles softly.

"Five hundred years, and you still doubt it," he replies with a quiet chuckle.

Over Raphael's shoulder Simon can see Clary running towards them with a panicked look on her face, and he grimaces. "This is going to be fun to explain," he sighs. Raphael merely hums and places a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

For the first time they don't die at all.


End file.
